Dilemma
by AmIBrokenAmIFlawed
Summary: Pansy Parkinson, along with others that missed out on their 7th year, are back for their 8th year, as a redo. Like everyone else, she can't stop replaying all of her actions, and the thoughts are too much to handle. Is it time to silence them? HG/PP, HP/DM, Pansmione, Drarry, Hermione, Pansy, Draco, Harry
1. Why

I know, I suck. I have written and deleted A Shocking Truth 2 or 3 times already, but I can't seem to get past the third chapter before writers' block hits.

I am still attempting to rewrite A Shocking Truth, but I am going to wait until I have a large portion of it written before I rereupload it!

I have been struggling with my mental health for a few years now, and I hit a major rut in life. I sort of wrote Pansy in this story off of my emotions with an added bit for context. Sounds dumb but yeah. This is a Pansmione, don't like it, don't read it.

* * *

Pansy POV

As I walk through the seemingly deserted corridor, I think to myself about how it feels so strange. The school I had once hated was now my refuge. Memories of the war crept into my mind as I drift aimlessly.

Why didn't I die as my father and mother did? Why was I exempt? And the old methods of trying failing to deal with the guilt weren't working anymore. The cutting has lost its sting, the choking stops before I go too far, and I can't bring it upon myself to attempt to _Avada_ myself.

Why did I offer to sacrifice Potter to that mad man?

Why did I cower instead of fight?

Why did I know which side I would have fought for?

Why does knowing that hurt so much?

As I see the window ahead I wonder aloud "What if I hang myself? Would that work on Hogwarts grounds?"

As the idea starts to form in my head, I run towards the window and drop my bag and wand about 10 feet away. I try as quietly as possible to open the window and I then peek my head out to see if there was anything to hang a rope on.

As my front is completely hanging out of the window I hear a voice that I realize I know, but cannot place, scream "No! _Accio_".

With that cry, I am yanked backward, as though I had been lassoed around the waist. The person that had _accioed_ me was thrown to the ground, me with them.

When I come to my senses, I scramble to my feet and take a look at my… I don't know. Savior? Foiler of my plans?

"Granger" I breath out, seeing the mass of chestnut curls on the ground. "Granger!" I screamed when she showed no signs of life, and remembered that Muggles feel the neck for a pulse (don't ask) and did so quickly.

I felt for her pulse and was relieved to feel a steady but faint _thump… thump… thump_. I quickly did a wandless _Accio_ and collected my wand, then muttered "_wingardium leviosa"_ to get her to the hospital wing.

* * *

This kinda sucks but, reviews and criticism are welcome. I, again, will be attempting to rerewrite A Shocking Truth, and if you are interested in collaborating, PM me!


	2. Wakeup

Hermione POV

The intensely radiant sun peeks through the curtains, causing me to see spots. Wait, where am I?

My heart is racing, my breaths are coming in quickly, but drawing in little air. God, I'm going to puke. I'm sweating a shit ton.

God Granger, get a grip. You know what is happening, go through your list.

5 things I can see, 4 things I can feel, 3 things I can hear, 2 things I can smell, and 1 thing I can taste.

I can see the sun, the blue curtain, hair in my eyes, a potion on the table to my left, and the white sheets.

Hospital Wing.

I can feel the pillow under my head, the clothes on my body, the sheets… what the fuck?

I can't open my eyes, it hurts too much. There is someone grasping my hand tightly, how didn't I realize that?

It isn't Harry or Ron, it was a girl. The hand was too soft to belong to Ginny, and no one else would be in here to see me.

Checklist first 'Mione, if you don't finish it, it gets worse. My pulse, which had started to slow, is racing again.

Hear, okay. Someone, the person that is holding my hand, is breathing softly, a potion is bubbling, and the sound of shoes squeaking on the floor.

I can smell… Wait, are those flowers? Whatever. Flowers and something metallic.

I can taste part of the treacle tart I had with lunch.

Okay, breathe. The panic attacks have been getting worse. The war fucked all of us up. I have panic attacks and PTSD, the same as Ron and Harry. Luna can't be alone with a man. Some people can't even use their wands.

Ron couldn't come back to Hogwarts, not while Fred's ghost is here. No one has seen Harry in months.

He disappeared after the Malfoys' trials. Lucius got life in Azkaban, Narcissa got 3 under house arrest, while Draco has to come back to repeat his last year with the rest of us that wanted or needed the last year of education.

My letters have all come back unopened. I figure maybe I should give him more time, I mean he did die.

I used to love going down to the kitchen to help out the house-elves, but I can't.

I can't look at a knife. The two words carved into my skin and the lines covering my arms took care of that for me.

But how the fuck did _she _know? The word, 'Mudblood', made sense, everyone knew that piece of information. Just how did she know to carve 'faggot' underneath that?

* * *

Once the pain subsides, I finally pry my eyes open. The pressure on my hand has decreased, but only slightly. I try to sit up, but the pain in my head forces me back down, eliciting a loud gasp.

The hand in mine gives a start, was she asleep? She makes a confused sounding "mhm." She jerks her hand away, and slowly, scratchily, asks "Granger?"

I can't place the voice, but I recognize it.

"Granger are you awake? Merlin please, wake up." Her voice cracks at the end of it, filled with pain.

I try to sit up, giving a groan as I do. Flower girl runs for Madam Pomfrey, I don't see her before she disappears.

Pomfrey runs over with potions threatening to pour out of her arms. "Ms. Granger, how are you feeling?"

"Ugh, bloody awful, my head is pounding. Why am I here?"

"Ms. Granger, you took a nasty spill. You hit your head, and Ms. Parkinson brought you in."

"What does _Parkinson _have anything to do with this?"

"Well I'm not quite sure, she brought you in is all I know. She was crying, and she has been sitting with you the entire time you've been here. She seemed very angry, mind you. She kept muttering to herself, but I could never make out her words."

Pomfrey's statement hits me hard. Parkinson was here with me? Wait…

"Madam Pomfrey? How long was I out?"

"Ms. Granger, I don't really know how to say this, but you have been in a coma for 2 weeks"


	3. Hope

Heyyy so since Hermione was in a coma for 3 weeks, 21 days, the next 7 chapters are going to be through 3 day periods. These are pretty short, but I am super busy with school right now, and I'm trying to get some updates out so I don't go months or a year without posting. Thanks for reviewing raingirl71, and Roxanne Mrquez! It really does give me the inspiration to write more.

Thanks for reading!

Pansy POV

Day 1:

When Granger saved my life, she pulled me towards her. When I slammed into her, I knocked her to the ground, and her head hit the floor.

The sound was worse than any noise I heard at any point in the war.

It terrified me. I hate being the source of anyone's pain anymore.

I used to relish in it under the eye of my parents, I would get rewarded for bullying. Every time I used that word I would get praised.

Every curse, slight, foul name. Praise, new things, my parents' approval. All I ever cared about was their love.

She hasn't woken up yet, and Pomfrey says she can't use a spell or a potion to forcefully wake her up. If she does, Granger won't be Granger anymore.

Granger won't have her memories.

No one will be able to do anything to get them back.

Would that be a good or bad thing?

* * *

Day 2:

It has been 2 days since Granger saved me, I haven't left her bedside. She still won't wake up. Why do I care so much as to if she wakes up or not?

If she dies, does that count as vengeance for my parents?

Does it even count if I don't want her to die?

Does it count if I know they deserved it, and I wanted them to die anyway?

* * *

Day 3:

Sleep. I can't stop it from overcoming me occasionally, but each time it does, it's worse than the time before.

According to muggle healers (dentors?), I have a dream sleep disorder, called night terrors.

I can't sleep without some sort of nightmare occurring. Mostly about people dying.

Potter, being actually gone. That caused everyone on the 'Light' side to die, most of them after being mercilessly tortured. The girls from ages 13 to 20, with some exceptions, were all sold off, if they didn't manage to Avada themselves first.

Draco, dead. Found out by the Dark Lord as a Light spy. No one but me knows that. If he had told Potter or Granger, any of the Death Eaters would murder him as soon as they got out of Azkaban.

He tried. He really did. Lying to his bitch aunt about not knowing that it was Potter. Making Narcissa tell the Dark Lord Potter was dead.

He never believed all the bullshit that our parents spouted like nursery rhymes. Every time he called Granger a Mudblood, he would come back to the dorm and cry to me. He hated the look on her face every time, and he knew that it was awful.

Every time he insulted Potter, it looked like a piece of him broke. Every "Scarhead," "Potty," curse, hex, and everything in between.

Sobbing in my arms.

Maybe it was also how much Potter hated him. He couldn't bear how Potter looked at him with so much contempt.

And after 6th year, they both looked so numb. No one ever said why.

Maybe, in another life, he and I would have simply gone along with our parents' wishes, gotten married.

Too late for that now.

* * *

Granger, wake up. Please.

Every time Pomfrey walks in here to insert some potions into you, she looks at me.

She looks so angry like it's my fault. She's not wrong.

If I had just disillusioned myself. If I had made completely certain that no one was around. If I had just moved a few inches right or left.

Then maybe every time Pomfrey walks in, she wouldn't look so sad.

Wouldn't look like there was no hope.

* * *

So I'll be that person for a second okay? Okay.

I can't always update, so I'll update when I can.

Uhh please review, tell me what to fix, what was good. And if you have an idea of something you want to see in the story, PM me. Thanks for reading.


	4. Halloween

Okay honestly, I never thought that I would get this far in this story because I just never have free time lol. Uhh, thanks for reading!

* * *

Day 4:

Granger, wake up. I've been crying over you for four days. I don't really know why. I feel so guilty, so awful. Pomfrey tried to kick me out this morning, saying "Ms. Parkinson, you have no reason to be here."

But then she turned around. I wish I hadn't heard what she said. She said it so faintly, so full of sorrow, and I heard it anyway.

"She won't wake up anyway, so there's no use." Granger please come back and prove her wrong.

Why am I writing this? Even if you wake up, you aren't ever going to read this. You won't ever come near me ever again. You might hex me. I deserve it.

Please, Granger. Wake up. Prove them wrong. All of them.

* * *

Day 5:

Draco came to see me today. I haven't been to classes all week. I suppose he must be worried.

He looked horrid. His eyes were so sunken into his head, the bags underneath them were so huge. They're so dark, I wonder if he's slept in a week. The visions that creep their way into our sleep are too hard to deal with, and neither of us can submit ourselves to them anymore. Asking Pomfrey, or a personal healer for dreamless sleep potion is too embarrassing. We have earned enough torment as it is, and someone knowing, finding out about our dreamless sleep potion is worse. We don't brew it either, that would be worse. Caught making our own potion, as if.

The Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws never have to worry about that. The Gryffindors bring their potions to dinner every night and chug them when they finish. Some, such as Seamus Finnigan, have this look to them. This look, like they are going to die if they don't take the potion. Or if they keep taking it.

Hufflepuffs bake the potion into cookies, bread, brownies, cake, etcetera. Although, according to a rumor or 27, they got good at that, with pot rather than potion. Of course, most people can't touch the stuff anymore. They only allow themselves one addiction at a time, and that is the potion.

Ravenclaws use not sleeping to their benefit, as they mainly focus on work to distract them from the memories. The muggle-borns and some of the half-bloods brought in coffee makers, and they even run a black market coffee ring from their common room. I make my way there a few mornings a week, I need a coffee to get me through the day half the time.

Slytherins... we, on the other hand, shut ourselves away, day after day, night after night. The entire school hates me, hates us. I get it. I do.

I fucked up. I offered him up. That haunts me every day.

The rest of my house doesn't deserve the same hate. It's all my fault. They don't need to suffer for my mistakes.

They, even the first years get so many hexes. The first years don't really know why, or how to defend themselves.

In the common room, we have these meetings, 3 times a week. Mainly these meetings are for those in 5th year and lower, with the 6th, 7th, and 8th years teaching them.

Protego is the main one we teach them, they can't get in trouble for protecting themselves. Hopefully.

Most of the time, we can protect them, but when we can't… when one of our own ends up in the Hospital Wing, with no bones, with plants sprouting painfully out of their skin, with boils that hurt so much that they can't stand, it is murderous. My friends are all in pain.

I can't help them.

* * *

Day 6:

Halloween. It was once my favorite holiday. When I was little, Mother and Father would have a Halloween gala with their friends, and I would have a Halloween party.

Draco, Blaise, Theo, Tori, Daphne, Millicent, and I would dress up, play games, and gorge ourselves on sweets.

Merlin, we played spin the bottle, truth or dare, never have I ever, and everything in between. We had fun, we were each other's family.

The good times.

All of us had our first kisses during spin the bottle.

Draco and Blaise, Theo and Daph, Tori and Theo as well, and Millie and I.

Draco, Blaise, Millie and I all talked about how gross kissing someone the same gender as us was. I never thought it was gross, I kinda liked it, but I would never tell them that. The wizarding world is becoming more accepting, bit by bit.

Still, I'm not losing them because of who I am.

Now, Draco doesn't speak most days, Blaise is an alcoholic, Theo has PTSD worse than most, Tori and Daphne won't let anyone touch them, and Millie.

Millie's gone. She's dead. I couldn't stop crying, it still hurts more than most things.

She made me realize who I am.

We don't play games anymore. We don't wear costumes anymore. Death Eaters saw to the end of children running around in masks and costumes.

There's a feast tonight, that you organized. You should be there. Not here. Quiet, Pale, your face violently bare, skin cold in the warm Wing.

Draco is in here, he looks so lost. He keeps asking me to come back to class, come back to the common room. He needs me, but I can't leave. The thought of leaving is worse than the looks I get from random teachers and students walking in.

The accusatory look I've grown rather accustomed to hurts so much, tearing me up. If I'm not by your bedside, I'm sobbing in the bathroom, trying not to vomit. Pomfrey won't stop looking at me. Rather, my arms. I keep trying to not cut, trying to get the bad thoughts away, but it's no use.

Please wake up. Please? I know I say this almost every day, but you haven't done it. Wake up, Granger.


	5. Only Company

I'm so sorry, I know I haven't updated in a few weeks, but I was really busy with school work, and pep rally crap. Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Also: Yeah I've been rereading Percy Jackson stuffs so I put Nico in here, but he won't be part of the actual story

Also: I realized I haven't been adding the disclaimer in, I DON'T OWN ANYTHING OTHER THAN MY PLOT

Thanks to my proofreader, who also helped me name the chapter: TheBetrayedSassmaster

Day 7:

Fuck off, Granger.

Fuck off, Pomfrey.

Fuck off, McGonagall.

Fuck off, Draco.

Fuck off, Mother and Father.

Fuck off, world.

Fuck off, life.

Why? Just why? This world is crushing me to pieces, and no one gives a shit. Except for Draco. This existence really fucking sucks and all I ever did when I was younger was make it worse for other people, so I guess I deserve it now. I wish I could take it back. Every stupid insult that there was no reason for. Calling you ugly, calling Potter ugly, stupid, stupid, stupid.

I wish I had been nicer, I'm tired of making wishes that won't ever come true.

If a single one comes true, I hope you wake up. The only one that is still possible. Well, the most reasonable one is still possible.

* * *

Day 8

7 days have come and gone, and you still are pale, cold, and still. It isn't fair, I should be the one in a coma, and you should be living your life, with your friends. You are of more use to the world than I am. You are loved by everyone, I'm hated by everyone. You have a glow around you, you make everyone happy, you're beautiful. My eyes are sunken into my head, no one wants to be around me, and I'm this scar covered, disgusting freak.

You shouldn't be here, with me as your only company. I should be here, with no visitors at all. You have a high collection of gifts, but no one stays after they see me. They get this disgusted look on their faces and turn around and walk out. I need to shower but I don't want to leave. If you wake up I don't want to be here, but I do. I know, it's dumb but it makes sense to me. I'm going to shower, don't you dare wake up before I leave. God, if you do, and find this, you'll know I'm a freak.

That I can't even leave your side, although you hate me. Screw it, it isn't like it even matters anymore. After you wake up, you won't ever talk to me, Golden Girl. Gryffindor Princess. Lioness. Hermione Granger. Any name, it won't matter.

Because I am the Evil Girl. Slytherin Princess, or Slytherin outcast. Snake. Pansy Parkinson. The Girl Who Should Have Died.

* * *

Day 9:

Wow, Granger. I thought you had it all together. Just like everyone else, you are broken. The war broke all of us, but no one expected you to be like us. Everyone thinks that you've recovered, but you haven't. You aren't "the perfect example of the aftermath of the war", whatever they say. You haven't moved on. Because these scars are fresh. As fresh as they can be for being in a coma for 9 days.

Yet somehow, I know you are still better than me. Not somehow, you've always been better than me. Because you're smarter than me. Because you're a Muggle-born. Because you haven't tried to kill me. Because there was no bad part of you, no part of you that didn't even think to turn to the dark for help. Because you hide them, you never thought to tell anyone about this. I'm guessing no one knows that your wrists have the same white cuts, scrapes, and scratches mine do. No one knows that you can't stand the pain of life, that you hurt yourself as a distraction from it.

I'm sorry for finding out. I am. But never in a million years would I wish that I hadn't. Knowing that you need help keeps me busy, keeps my mind from going to my bad thoughts.

Pomfrey needed my help to bathe you, as you haven't been cleaned since you were brought here. I tried to tell her no, that I would be invading your privacy, but she insisted.

I bathed you, I washed and brushed your hair. I kept brushing until I fell asleep, your head in my lap. I guess Pomfrey readjusted us so that I wouldn't fall, as I woke up, lying down, with you in my arms, the brush on the table next to me.

A Slytherin was staring open-mouthed, a boy with black shaggy hair and pale skin. Nico. His sister was killed by my parents, and he was pulled out of Malfoy Manor by you, Potter, and Weasley. So, of course, he would stare.

I jumped out of bed, out of the warmth from lying next to you, smoothed my shirt, and smoothed out the sheets over you.

If I had more courage, I would have just stayed there. But there are reasons I am a Slytherin and not a Gryffindor.


	6. Opia

**Author's Note: I made a slight change to chapter 2, I felt like everything was getting really repetitive, so I decided that instead of Hermione being in a coma for 3 weeks, she will only have been in one for 2. Sorry if that annoys anyone, but I think it will be better for the story.**

**Also: Thank you for the reviews! These chapters are really short, but once Hermione wakes up, they will (slowly) get longer. Thanks for sticking with me for this!**

* * *

**Day 10:**

They forced me to go to class today. I tried to stay but to no avail. McGonagall gave me this odd, calculating look that only McGonagall gives. As if she knows how it feels to desperately want to stay, yet everyone is trying to change your mind. I'm not sure if I don't want to leave you, or if I don't want to go back to classes. I need to talk to Draco, I've been dreadful to him. He keeps trying to come in, but Pomfrey refuses to let him. I'm not quite sure why, him or her.

I should be nicer to Draco, he is all I have left. His father is in Azkaban for a life sentence, his mother on house arrest for the next 3 years. Narcissa was so relieved that Lucius was gone, for good. He was horrid to both of them. Most of us Slytherins escaped either of those fates on the account that we come back to school, whether to redo our 7th year, or to finish up/continue our schooling.

I made a mistake today. I've tried so hard. Since you got in here, I hadn't cut, at all. I felt gross, doing it with you almost dead in the bed next to me. I was doing so well. Of course, I messed up. Do I get anything right anymore?

From seemingly nowhere, this euphonious susurrus was in my ears, forcing its way into my brain. I keep hearing it, echoing in my head.

"You worthless, disgusting, damaged, poisonous, horrid excuse of a human being. Granger is here because of you and your cry for attention. Why don't you just do everyone a favor and off yourself? It isn't as if they'll notice. It isn't as if anyone will care."

"Cut, you'll feel better."

And I gave in. I gave up. I let the voices in my head make decisions for me.

As my blood dripped to the floor, I made one last statement before the blood loss caused me to pass out.

"I'm sorry. Don't save me. I don't deserve it."

* * *

**Day 11:**

So. Pomfrey had to give me blood replenishers and made me talk to a therapist. That conversation went like so:

"Hello Miss Parkinson, I assume you know why I'm here?"

"Of course I do, I'm the reason why." I then shift in my bed, which is now next to yours. Sitting up, I ripped back my sleeves, to look at my arms. I wanted to see my damage. But of course, they were covered in bandages, from elbow to palm.

"Miss Parkinson, I am here to talk to you about your thoughts, actions, and just to listen if need be."

"What all did Pomfrey tell you?"

"She has told me that you've been here for 10 days already, keeping Miss Granger company. She told me that Miss Granger had an accident. She told me that you dug a knife into your arms until you passed out from lack of blood." He pauses, clearing his throat. "She also told me that you haven't left, haven't gone to class, haven't gone to meals, and that you become frantic if you must leave Miss Granger's side."

"Frantic!? I do not get frantic. I have guilt. I'm the reason she's here." Of course, I'll deny it. I do get frantic. I hate leaving your side.

"We can get back to that later. Why did you cut again? According to Madam Pomfrey, you haven't needed bandages the whole time you have been here. So answer me this: Why now?" The look on his face tells me he knows the answer, he just wants me to admit it out loud.

"My thoughts got too loud. Too evil. It makes them quiet, at least for a bit."

"Does your guilt have anything to do with the voices?"

"Of course the guilt adds to the voices, but it isn't the only voice."

"Is the guilt the only reason you've been here?"

"As in lying in a bed in the Hospital Wing, talking to a therapist?"

"No, as in sitting here with Hermione Granger. You two aren't friends. You fought on different sides of a war. You are a pureblood; she is a Muggle-born. So again, my question, is guilt the only reason you've been here?"

And then is when I admitted something I didn't even know I knew. Then is when I did something, said something that I don't know why I ever told anyone. Much less a stranger.

In a time of opia, nepenthe took over my mind.

"No, it isn't. I am a lesbian. I have a crush on Hermione Granger. It is stupid, It is pointless, yet I am still right here. She hates me and will hate me even more after she knows why she's here. My friends, those that I still have will all hate me. The whole school will know, Pansy Parkinson is a faggot."

And there you have it. My big confession. My day with the therapist. I admitted what scares me the most. If my parents were alive… If they knew. They always talked about how gays were going to burn in hell, how the "whole lot of them needed to be rounded up and executed."

Well, Mum. Dad. I am a lesbian. I have a crush on Muggle-born, light side, top of our class, bushy-haired, know-it-all, Hermione Granger.

* * *

**Day 12:**

You. I'm here because of you. I've always liked you. I bullied you because I was stupid. I'm still stupid. If you can ever forgive me, you would be sparing me more kindness than I deserve.

Should I tell Draco? I can't. He is the only friend I have. If he knows that I'm like this, he will abandon me too. If he abandons me, I won't survive.

I started taking the dreamless sleep potion. It's helped a bit. I saw them die again. Draco and Potter. You too. I watched you die at the hands of Bellatrix, in Malfoy Manor.

You looked straight at me and screamed that it was my fault. You told me that I shouldn't even be alive because I'm a no good, worthless faggot. I know it was only a dream, but that didn't help any. The words cut me to the core, and now I can't stop myself from sobbing.

I hugged you today. After you wake up, I won't have that opportunity anymore. I wish you could have hugged back. Not that you would have. This is stupid. I give up


	7. Obligations

Okay, so I hate myself. I wrote an amazing Day 13 entry on Fighters Block. Then my stupid self forgot to add it to the document. 1500+ words gone. This is kinda close to what I wrote last time, but not the same.

Sorry for the delay, my mental health had some issues recently, and I just couldn't get any writing done.

If anyone just needs someone to listen to them, PM me at any time.

Also: in that scene when Pansy talks about seeing Hermione's cuts, she DOES NOT see the slurs carved into her arm. They are covered by a glamour charm, and it cannot be reversed by anyone but Hermione.

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING, I included Percy Jackson character names and partial personalities, but this isn't a crossover. I mentioned songs, shows, and a movie, I own none of these either

J.K. Rowling, Rick Riordan, Bon Jovi, Journey, and Simple Minds get credit for the songs and characters used.

* * *

**Day 13:**

So… I haven't cut since the other day, which is a good thing. Pomfrey couldn't heal my arms with magic, because apparently, they needed to heal the muggle way, because they were inflicted a muggle way. Honestly, though she is the healer here, I think she can and isn't, to teach me a lesson.

When I say I haven't cut since the other day, it isn't because I didn't want to (I really did), it's the fact that Pomfrey has my arms wrapped in bandages that I can't undo, by hand or by wand.

I hope you wake up. If you would, even if it was just to hex me into oblivion, and put me out of my misery, I would be forever grateful. I mean, more grateful than I already am.

* * *

→ NOTE TO SELF:

The scars on your wrists DO NOT define you, no matter what lies your brain is telling you. You are worthy of life, and things will get better. You are a warrior, you've fought for your whole life. Don't give up now. LET PEOPLE IN!

* * *

Sorry about that, I just needed to write that down for Pomfrey. I'm supposed to write myself positive messages about cutting or depression. Apparently, it should make me want to cut less… I guess?

I keep thinking of every 'what if' that has flitted through my mind, but I really don't like doing that. 'What ifs?' don't do anything. Best not to think of them unless you have nothing better to do.

I've been trying to distract myself so that I won't cut. My arms my be bandage covered but my legs aren't. Shortlist of what I have done include:

xx Listening to music (one half-blood, Ravenclaw, seventh year named Annabeth figured out how to make these things called MP3 players work (She and her boyfriend Percy (half-blood, Slytherin, seventh year) missed the music that their friends (from the camp they go to every break) played), even with the magic… You should know this, but it happened the day before Halloween, so you couldn't know.) She made it add every new song that comes out, and she made a spell that plays the music _in_ your head, _Audite._

xx Songs include Livin' on a Prayer, Don't Stop Believin', and Don't You (Forget About Me). The latter was in this AWESOME movie called The Breakfast Club… brain, athlete, basket case, princess, criminal.

xx Watching television, that other half-blood Leonidas (Leo?) helped fix them for magic, and his friend Jason helped with electrical stuff.  
Shows include Sabrina the Teenage Witch (hilarious attempts at whatever muggles think magic is), Friends (Fucking hilarious), and Full House (funny, though not as funny as Friends)

xx Songwriting, it's supposed to help somehow by getting your emotions onto a piece of paper rather than yourself

xx Playing the piano, the noise always helped me focus, back then it was just fun but now I use it to divert my attention from other stuff

So back to every "what if." I said I would stop thinking of them, but I have nothing better to do, the aforementioned things are all I've done. So, here goes nothing

1) What if you never wake up?

2) What if you do wake up, soon?

3) What if you don't remember anything?

4) What if you remember everything?

5) What if you murder me?

6) What if you forgive me?

7) What if you're gay?

8) What if I ask you out?

9) What if you say no?

10) What if you say yes?

Well, best not to dwell on these, and best never to think of the answers. Unless you have nothing better to do, that is.

1) Actually, I'd rather not think about that. I would cry for a while. The world would mourn for the lost heroine. I would probably be tried for murder. If convicted, I would spend life in Azkaban, and I would serve that sentence knowing I deserved it.

2) Everyone would be happy, their hero has returned. You would probably get me expelled but… hey, it doesn't matter anyway if you're okay.

3)I think the Ministry would spend as much money as they could, trying to get it back. Potter might rejoin the world, Weasley would be heartbroken. I probably wouldn't be able to show it, but I would be too. Your parents would need to be told. Who would have the heart to?

4) You would probably hate me for taking away weeks, months, or years from your life. If you didn't hate me, you would try to fix me. You saw me with my body almost fully out of the window. You might try to make sure I keep going to the therapist or make me take potion nightly. Neither option sounds favorable.

5) To be quite honest, you wouldn't go to jail. You would face ZERO repercussions, but that's the way things are. Honestly, both of us would be perfectly fine, happy even, with that outcome.

6) I would not know how to process that, honestly. If you forgave me, manyy people would ask what in Merlin's name you were thinking. I would push past my befuddlement (eventually), and either make the smart decision and never come near you ever again, or make the dumb one and try to be friends with you.

7) My reaction would be as follows: SFJENKJFEGYHYVCJNEJNUIREGBFHCEDKJIF. I know, it's stupid. Even if you're gay, you wouldn't ever go out with me. I would need to be a good person, well you would need to know I'm a good person. No one knows I'm even gay.

8) I'd get rejected, and I'm stupid for even thinking about doing it.

9) As said above, REJECTED. I'd honestly be mortified and terrified of what everyone will say.

10) It will never happen I would probably cry to be quite honest. I'm not good at emotions, so I would honestly just show how I feel through touch, rather than through words. I didn't realize this (Draco pointed it out to me) but I only let people that I'm comfortable with anywhere near me. That list currently is comprised of Draco and Blaise...

* * *

You are my biggest 'what if?'

You always have been.

You always will be.

What have I done?

* * *

**Day 14:**

You haven't woken up, and it's been 2 weeks.

What did you do to deserve this? I've done everything wrong, I'm the 'evil' one, everyone hates me. You are perfect and everyone loves you.

I can't write long tonight, I'm already writing by wand light. I couldn't ask Pomfrey for another batch of the potion, so I guess I'm just going to stay awake as long as possible, at least until I pass out from exhaustion.

You look so peaceful, I'm going to guess that this is the first time in 8 years that you have been truly at peace. I'm willing to bet that even when you went home for summer and Christmas vacation that you still worried yourself sick over Potter and Weasley. If I were you, I would've been worried that they would find a way to get themselves killed, whether by Voldemort or doing something stupid. I'm guessing you wouldn't stop staring at them for a month after the whole flying car incident in second year. How did you manage to keep them alive this long?

Actually, I had another question about that. Is Potter alive? No one has seen him since the war, and I know everyone has been looking for him. Did someone finally get their hands on him, and it's being covered up? Did Potter off himself?

I'm sorry, that was insensitive. If you're like the rest of us, you're worried. The Slytherins won't show it, but we are. Most all of us are so thankful that we feel so much of a debt to Harry Potter that we would do almost anything for him. (Those that don't are the ones that actually had good relationships with their parents that are now in Azkaban or dead.) We don't show it because we were never supposed to let any feelings show, other than hatred.

I get the question allll the time. "Why didn't you just do it anyway?" That is literally like asking why someone that was with Voldemort why they didn't simply walk away. Then comes the next question. I don't see how this one could be asked but, "What would happen then?"

You get one of two things. Tortured or dead.

Then the next question, "You think your parents would actually kill you?"

Yes, I do. When Voldemort was resurrected at the end of fourth year, he needed more followers. Younger, more reliable Death Eaters.

My older brother, Anthos, was asked by my parents told by my parents that he must become a Death Eater. He refused.

His funeral was the next day.

I hated my parents from that day forth, yet I was still loyal to them out of fear.

The monsters tried to force me to join them, the night Draco got his Dark Mark. The difference was I'm a girl, so my father decided I shouldn't have the Mark, lest it is discovered by a dress customary of 'a woman of my status.'

I must go, Pomfrey is stirring, a boy; no a man, was just brought in.

Please come back...

* * *

Ps: I will be uploading Pansy's POV of when Hermione wakes up probably next week!


	8. Mind is a Prison

AN: This is Pansy's perspective (not a journal entry) of chapter 2 when Hermione WAKES UP! Thanks to those who have stuck around. Also, I'll be including songs into some chapters, songs that wouldn't have come out at the time that this story is taking place. Yes, I do realize this, no I don't care.

Disclaimer, characters belong to JK Rowling, songs belong to Alec Benjamin, plot belongs to my stupid self.

Also during the second song, I'm so sorry I forgot to mention it in a previous chapter but: trigger warning, self-harm.

* * *

A pain-filled groan pierced the air; pulling me out of a decent sleep with a start. I match the groan of pain with my own groan reflecting my partially awoken state, as well as how I felt about the sun being DIRECTLY in my eyes.

The 'pins and needles' feeling spread across my left arm as I tried to shift, causing a fair bit of pain and annoyance.

Wait… who groaned? There are only two people in here…

Is she awake? My heart jumps into my throat as I whisper all I can muster. "Granger?" My voice cracked apart as a glimmer of hope threatened to escape. This can't be real. Is she actually awake?

"Granger? Are you awake?" I must be fooling myself. "By Merlin, please, wake up."

I hear the pain in my voice, releasing it before I could think about trying to contain it.

Granger moves slightly, then propping herself up with her arms she sat up. Her pain-filled groan felt like a bullet to the heart, though why does it affect me so much?

The only thing I know how to do, the only thing I've ever done.

Run.

I jumped out of my seat and ran as fast as I could. If she doesn't recognize my voice or my perfume, she will recognize my face.

Pomfrey, I need to get Pomfrey… The only reason she let you stay here was that you PROMISED her that you would tell her if she woke up. Ugh, my head hurts so badly, is that the effects of your life crashing down around yourself?

My ankle wobbles underneath me before it gives out. Fuck, it hurts so badly, but she's the important one. Hobbling over to Pomfrey's office, I knock on the door as politely as I can muster.

The door opens quickly, but Pomfrey looks horrid. Her hair is ratty, her eyes look sunken in and the skin under her eyes is puffy and purple.

For a quick second, I allow my eyes to flit over to where I saw that man be put on a bed last night, but the curtains were shut, and you could feel the magic radiating from them.

Before my brain could start to process _that_, Pomfrey whisper yelled. "What on Earth do you need this early in the morning?"

Her eyes betrayed her as she looked over at the mystery patient, yet quickly snapped back to me.

Would now be the right time to ask her- NO, Granger, tell her about Granger you idiot!

"Madam, she's awake! Granger is awake!"

A mixture of disbelief, confusion, delight, and exhaustion was displayed on her face at once. She sticks her arm out and all but shoves me out of the way.

"Sorry dear!" she whisper-yells, then grabs a ton of potions before running over to Granger.

Should I stay now? Should I go back and sit beside Granger? No, leaving before she sees is the best option.

* * *

5 hours later

I can't stop thinking about her. I'm worried but I can't tell if I'm worried about myself or her.

On one hand, Pomfrey must be looking over her, but on the other, Pomfrey probably told her that I was there. I don't want her to hate me more than she already does.

I have no idea where I am. I've been wandering for hours. I need to stop, but I don't want to. Mindless wandering is easier than emotions are.

I still have my MP3 Player on me! Music drowns out my thoughts usually, so why not?

"**If you gave me only one wish**

**I wouldn't want to feel this way**

**They told me I'd have your memory**

**But all I want is you to stay**

**And I can't stop my mind from haunting me**

**It's like a scar on a butterfly's wing**

**I wanted you to know"**

Where am I going? What time is it?

"**This beautiful pain I feel is all because of you**

**And one day these bones will heal**

**And they'll leave me with the truth**

**And I'll give you everything if it's the last thing that I do**

**This beautiful pain, this beautiful pain**

**This beautiful pain for you"**

Why do these damn lyrics have to be so sad?

"**If I sailed the world on stormy seas**

**Chasing sunlight that I can't see**

**I was a dreamer here before**

**Before I woke up and fell to the floor**

**And I'd climb to heaven if I could find you**

**Even with a scar this butterfly flew**

**I wanted you to know"**

The first tear slides down my cheeks. Scars were all too relevant.

How am I supposed to move on from these scars? How do I fly when I don't even know how to crawl?

"**This beautiful pain that I feel is all because of you**

**And one day these bones will heal**

**And they'll leave me with the truth**

**And I'll give you everything if it's the last thing that I do**

**This beautiful pain, this beautiful pain, this beautiful pain"**

Fuck, my ankle. It gives out and I stagger over to a wall before I slump to the floor. I had forgotten about it...

"**And all I'll ever need**

**And all I'll ever be**

**Within every part of me**

**Is this, this beautiful pain that I feel is all because of you**

**And one day these bones will heal**

**And leave me with the truth**

**And I'll give you everything 'cause it was all I ever knew**

**This beautiful pain, this beautiful pain, this beautiful pain for you"**

Where is my diary? I need it, now! Wait…. No, I didn't! Merlin, please tell me I'm insane, I would prefer it to reality. I left in such a rush. My diary is still there, on the nightstand…

A new wave of tears begins to flow out of my eyes as my shoulders start heaving with sobs. If she sees it… If she tells everyone, the bit of life I have left is gone. Why couldn't I have just kept my thoughts in my head like everyone else?! A new song comes on, the same artist as before.

"**I don't live in California, I'll inform you, that's not where I reside**

**I'm just a tenant, paying rent inside this body and I**

**Got two windows and those windows, well I'll call them my eyes**

**I'm just going where the wind blows, I don't get to decide"**

My sobbing gets louder as I feel myself melt into the music, every word finding its own place inside of me.

"**Sometimes I think too much, yeah, I get so caught up**

**I'm always stuck in my head**

**I wish I could escape, I tried to yesterday**

**Took all the sheets off my bed"**

I just want to leave this world behind, to escape...

"**Then I tied up my linen with five strips of ribbon I found**

**Scaled the side of the building**

**I ran to the hills till they found me**

**And they put me back in my cell**

**All by myself, alone with my thoughts again**

**I guess my mind is a prison and I'm never gonna get out"**

I need my razor, where is it? I don't want to deal with this pain. I need to feel something else.

"**So they tranquilized me, analyze****d me, threw me back in my cage**

**Then they tied me to an IV, told me I was insane**

**I'm a prisoner, a visitor inside of my brain**

**And no matter what I do, they try to keep me in chains"**

"_Accio razor blade," _I cry out, the words cracking in my throat. I don't even know if this will work. but it's worth a shot.

"**Sometimes I think too much, yeah, I get so caught up**

**I'm always stuck in my head**

**I wish I could escape, I tried to yesterday**

**Took all the sheets off my bed"**

I hear it before I see it, and seconds later the knife is impaled in the wall above my head.

"**Then I tied up my linen with five strips of ribbon I found**

**Scaled the side of the building**

**I ran to the hills till they found me**

**And they put me back in my cell**

**All by myself, alone with my thoughts again**

**I guess my mind is a prison and I'm never gonna get out"**

Bandages, on the ground around me. They were still on my arms, though other than scarring, my arms look perfectly fine. Blindly pulling and grabbing, the knife comes free.

"**Said even if it's true, no matter what I do**

**I'm never gonna escape**

**I won't give up on hope, secure another rope**

**And try for another day**

**Said even if it's true, no matter what I do**

**I'm never gonna escape**

**I won't give up on hope, secure another rope**

**And try for another day"**

I feel the knife drag across my arms, cutting into my flesh with ease. It doesn't ease the emotional pain I feel. Blood drips off of my arms, echoing through the empty corridor as it hits the cold floor. Quicker and quicker I cut, not bothering to see how deep they are or how much damage I'm doing. I deserve everything that I'm doing.

"**Then I tied up my linen with five strips of ribbon I found**

**Scaled the side of the building**

**I ran to the hills till they found me**

**And they put me back in my cell**

**All by myself, alone with my thoughts again**

**I guess my mind is a prison and I'm never gonna get out"**

Red fills my vision as I stare down at the ruined skin of my arms. One final thought goes through my brain.

I guess my mind is a prison, and I'm never gonna get out.

With that, my head hits the floor with a sickening smack, and my vision goes black.

No matter what I do, I'm never gonna escape.

* * *

AN: Go to my profile, and PLEASE give your feedback on the poll posted there


	9. Dripping Blood

Hey, first of all, sorry about the delay. I just got back into school a month ago, and the workload was insane. Second of all, I know this isn't the chapter most of y'all wanted, but I needed to update to tell yall that updates will be dependant on my volleyball and school schedules.

*This starts right after the end of the last chapter

* * *

**Draco POV**

Where the hell is Pansy? It's lunchtime, she promised… Maybe she forgot? Hospital Wing, that's where she must be. Shit, I have to run.

I take off, knowing that if I don't hurry I won't have time to eat before the next class. Within a few minutes, I am there, attempting to open the doors. When they won't budge it is obvious to me that they have been sealed, so I just know on the door. For a minute, I get no response. Finally, the door opens just wide enough for Pomfrey's head to slip through the door.

"Yes, boy? What do you need?"

"Do you know where Pansy is?"

She rolls her eyes, and then asks "Pansy who? A lot of students come in here dear."

Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes myself, I respond "Pansy Parkinson, the one that has been sitting with Hermione Granger for the past 2 weeks?"

It may have just been me, but I swear her eyes widen as I say Granger's name.

"Oh, her." Her face scrunches with distaste.

What did she do this time?

"I think she left this morning, I haven't seen her in hours." Under her breath, I swear I hear her mutter "good riddance."

Pans said that if she left, she would tell me. She also said she would come to class, and as far as my dumbass self knows, that didn't happen.

"Well, thank you Madame Pomfrey, have a good day," I say, turning around. I hear her call "you as well" while I'm halfway down the corridor.

* * *

I've been looking for over half an hour now, where is she? Blaise, Theo, Daphne, nor the rest of Pans' roommates have seen her; and she won't answer her phone. I've texted her 12 times, and I've called 4 times. One more couldn't hurt, right?

I press the call button, and I hear ringing down the corridor. I take off at a sprint, hoping that I've finally found her.

The ringing stops, so I dial again. A phone's shrill noise breaks through the silence for the second time, closer this time.

I turn the corner and I almost retch at the sight. I fall to my knees next to her, the blood splashing onto the cold stone. I finally found her, she can't be gone. I won't let her leave me. Her flesh looks like that of one of Greyback's victims, bringing up horrid memories.

"Pansy?" My voice wobbles, barely reaching a whisper as it comes off of my lips. "PANSY?" This time, my voice cracks and echoes around the corridor.

The walls are closing in around me. I can't breathe. My heartbeat speeds up, and I begin to sweat.

I scoop Pansy up in my arms, hers still dripping blood. I run as fast as my legs will carry me to the Hospital Wing. Miraculously, I didn't run into a single person on the way there.

I get to the Hospital Wing, and (not quite remembering my manners) I kick the door as hard as I can. No one responds. I do it again, and this time, Pomfrey lazily opens the door and just _looks_ at me.

"Madame Pomfrey, I need help!" With that, she snaps into focus and lets out a small scream at the sight of Pansy's mutilated body.

She looks as though she is about to be sick (Merlin knows how she was the main mediwitch in the war?!), but seemingly shakes it off, then snaps and points her finger inside as she moves out of the way. She directs me to a bed in the back corner, away from two patients in the front, both of whom have curtains drawn around them. One of them must be Ganger's, but the other one…

I lay Pansy down as gently as I can, her body cold and heavy. I look down at my hands, and see the scarlet sheen, smell the metallic scent, and feel how her blood is drying and becoming sticky. The same nauseating substance is covering most of my upper body.

I barely make it to a bucket in time to lose my breakfast.

Pomfrey looks up for a second, as if just now remembering that I was there.

"Shoo!" Shoo? What in Merlin's name does she mean shoo?

"You heard me, boy, leave!"

Rather than piss off the old witch, I decide now would be a perfect time for me to take my leave.

As I make my way out of the Hospital Wing, a male's groggy voice rings out from behind the curtains of the bed on the left.

"Draco…? Is that you?"

* * *

Please R&R, I hope the next chapter will be posted/written within the next month, but I have two pep rallies to plan to take place before the end of March... we'll see.


	10. White

Hermione POV

Hospitals, clean, yet too clean. Why is that the case? What does too clean even mean? Why is everything white? Why am I here? Why have I heard Pansy Parkinson's name whispered on the lips of anyone that has come in here?

Questions are funny things. No matter how many you ask, no one will ever be able to answer all of them.

I hear a slight groan, then the shuffling of feet, trying to get over to the source of said groan. After Pomfrey gave me 12 different potions, she all but ignored me to take care of the groaning boy. To be frank, that was fine with me. If she wasn't paying me much mind, that means I'm at least not a priority, which is pretty amazing.

Underneath the very edge of my pillow is a diary, with the initials PAP. I tried to read the front page but my head hurt so badly I couldn't read more than a sentence. It's been hours, the actual time is beyond me. I want to sleep, but everything is too bright, too _white_.

As I finally begin to drift off, my body jerks to the pounding on the door. Well, knocking. My eyes remain closed, in case it's someone here to check on me. I'm not up for that shit yet. At first, the Wing was dead silent. Then there was a slow shuffling. Then it stopped. Maddening silence again. Then muttering, before a clicking noise was made.

I hear the door drawback, and hear Pomfrey say: "Yes, boy? What do you need?"

I can't hear the responses of the boy, but then Pomfrey continues to speak, "Pansy who? A lot of students come here dear."

Parkinson? Someone is looking for Parkinson? I thought she went back to her classes or something… what _day _is it? Ugh.

"Oh, her." I can hear the disdain in her voice, but it doesn't make sense. From what she said, Parkinson didn't do anything wrong. Maybe she didn't tell the whole story. No matter what I show I'm capable of, people always think I can't handle being told things.

"I think she left this morning, I haven't seen her in hours." Damn, time flies when you're bored as fuck.

I hear a 'You as well' echo around the Wing, then another groan. Pomfrey keeps muttering, but my ears can't strain enough to hear what she says. I finally pry open my eyes, and it hurts like hell.

After a few minutes to let my eyes adjust, I shift my body slightly, just enough so that I could lift my pillow. I fish out the diary from underneath said pillow and take a deep breath. Should I do this? It's wrong. But then again, someone left it. If they left it, they obviously don't care about it much. But… I continue to argue with myself, as I do quite often. Eventually, the part of me telling me not to read it gives in to the curious (bored) part.

I open the cover and begin to read:

"So, I'm depressed. I hear voices in my head. I'm going to silence them"

* * *

So this is really short but here ya go, the next chapter will either be Hermione or "Patient-yet-to-be-named", though I'm sure yall know who he is. Sorry, I wrote most of this between midnight and 3 am so this may be grammatically incorrect.


	11. I'm Back

**Chapter 11**

AN: PAP stands for Pansy Archita Parkinson. It is not her canon middle name, but from what I could find she didn't have one, and I felt like giving her one. Sorry, this chapter took so long, I've been in a bit of a downward spiral for a bit. This story is going on hiatus, and I'm so sorry about that. But I really need to focus on my mental health right now.

This is short, but y'all deserved an explanation.

And I know y'all knew that the "mystery character" was Harry. But hey, surprise?

Harry's POV

Everything hurt. It felt like dying. Sirius had said that dying was "quicker and easier than falling asleep." He said that it didn't hurt at all. He was lying. It wasn't the dying itself, per se, that hurt. It was the coming back, it was the guilt, the madness, the _misery_ that came with returning. I knew I was responsible for the lives lost. Technically, that wasn't Sirius lying, that was Sirius' ignorant bliss.

Innocent Colin, who did nothing but vie for his attention since his first day. He shouldn't have even been at the battle, yet he was, and he died. Seeing Neville and Oliver carrying his body, something broke inside of me, but I didn't feel it for a while. Then the body count kept piling up.

Tonks, Remus, Snape, Fred, Collin, and 50 more he couldn't name. Regardless of who he could name and who he could not, the weight of their bodies just kept piling on and on.

Then I couldn't take it anymore. The Malfoys' trials broke what bit was left of me. After they were done, I disapparated and didn't look back. Every letter, every person that tried to ask if I was okay, I brushed it off. I didn't let anyone close to me. Everything hurt, and I didn't want to hurt anyone else. I felt bad about it, I truly did. Maybe not at the time, I was too numb, but now, I do.

I don't quite know what happened over the past month. It's all a blur, thoughts, feelings, memories, all in complete disarray in my mind. All I remember was needing to be back. I needed to come home.

My soul ached for the familiarity of home, of Hogwarts. But then… all I felt was pain. Pain, everywhere. Physical pain, mental pain, emotional pain.

I don't know where I am. I think I'm at Hogwarts, something inside of me has calmed. My eyes open, and I recognize the white curtains of a hospital bed. I can hear Madam Pomfrey's voice. Well, her scream. It's quiet, so she is either far away, or trying to be as quiet as possible. Footsteps, moving quickly. They pass by me, then stop as a bed creaks under someone's weight. Madam Pomfrey speaking again. Someone making a noise of protest. Madam Pomfrey again. Footsteps, less hurried. Slightly dragging. Pulling myself up, despite the agony, I slowly pull open the curtain. With their back to me, I see a man walking towards the door. Platinum blond hair that I could recognize anywhere. "Draco? Is that you?"

He freezes as if he wasn't sure if he heard properly. Turning around slowly, as if afraid. His face looks terrified. He has blood everywhere. "Is- is that _your _blood?"

Confusion replaces fear for a fraction of a second, before returning back to fear. "Ha- Potter? Is that really you?" Not fear, shock. Who could blame him?

"Yes, Draco, it's me. Long time, no see."


	12. Statues

Y'all I'm sorry. I've not been in the best mental state, and every time I've tried to write, it just… hasn't worked out. Sorry this took so long, thank you to those that are still here…

* * *

Hermione POV

After who knows how long, I finally pull myself out of the diary of one Pansy A. Parkinson. That was… wow. I didn't know her parents were dead. She cuts. She was leaning out of the window, not intending to jump as I had thought, but with the intent of finding a place to hang herself. I can't believe she would do that. Well, I'd be lying if I said I never wanted to. She knows I have scars. She knows how much I want to die. She knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows.

Huh. I can't breathe. Things are getting blurry. That's nice.

* * *

Ow. Pomfrey. Head. Ow. Floor. Wait, floor? Oh- panic attack, unconsciousness. Madame Pomfrey is standing over me, snapping her fingers in front of my face. My eyes focus on her face. She's saying something, I know she is. The only issue is, I cannot understand a word of it. It simply sounds like a dull buzzing, a swarm of bees, if you will. Her features reveal her concern. My tongue feels like lead in my mouth, even if I wanted to say something, I'm not sure I could. Or that I'd know what to say.

"Miss Granger?" Oh, words. "Miss Granger!?" Just a second please, mouth and brain are having issues connecting.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Well, that's what I meant to say. It probably sounded nothing like that, but whatever.

At least things aren't blurry anymore. I can see her face, screwed up in concern. "By Merlin, what are you doing on the floor, child?" She chews her lip (I'm shocked it doesn't constantly bleed by the amount that she gnaws on in), as though she knows what happened, though she needs me to confirm that I cannot go a day without falling apart like the worthless, broken, detrimental _thing_ I am

"Panic attack," I say, lifting my body to lean against the bed, "what else could it have been?" I know I'm being rude, but my head hurts and my anxiety is still pretty high.

She shoots me a disapproving look before extending her hand, the matronly look peaking through the annoyance. With a huff, I take her hand and stand. Well, almost stand. As in, I attempt to stand, my knees disagree, and I fall onto the bed. At least it isn't the floor. Again.

She helps me get situated, laying back down on the bed. Only seconds after that, though, there is a _thud_, seemingly coming from the doors of the wing. The mediwitch and I share a glance, silently asking each other if we both heard that. After a moment, we hear it again. Madam Pomfrey's eyes flit to the door, then back to me as she quickly apologizes, then closes the curtain. I hear her footsteps retreat, then one of the great doors opening.

At first, it is eerily quiet, then a boy's voice rings out, strongly laced with desperation "Madame Pomfrey, I need help!" At this, the matron lets out a scream and I shrink back against the pillow. I should help. I can't even stand. Then a _snap_, not like a bone (thank Merlin), but like fingers. Footsteps, hurried. The groan of a bed. Splattering. Did someone just vomit? I wrinkle my nose, as my senses soon realize that is _exactly_ what happened.

"Shoo!" Madam Pomfrey's unusually shrill voice slightly screeches. Who is she telling to 'shoo'? I thought someone was in here for help? "You heard me, boy, leave!" What?

One pair of footsteps walks briskly past my bed again, slowing, then stopping when another male voice scratchily and slowly asks "Draco, is that you?" Draco? Draco Malfoy? What's he doing here? And he's leaving. He was here earlier, looking for Parkinson. Oh Merlin… After a pregnant pause, the same voice asks "Is- is that _your _blood?" Who is that? The voice, I know it. Wait blood? Is he saying Draco has blood on him? If I could just sit up enough, I could open the curtain. I hate being this weak.

"Potter? Is that really you?" Harry? He's here? How? When? Why? Chill Granger, chill.

Finding all of the strength left in me, I pull myself to the end of the bed and yank open the curtains just as Harry says "Yes, Draco, it's me. Long time, no see."

Draco has his back to me, and Harry is in a bed across the isle and down 3. I can't see him, but that's where Draco is facing so I assume that's where he is. I turn left to see what the fuss was, but the curtain is closed around a bed 7 over from Harry's.

Though my throat hurts like hell, I manage to say (more like gasp) Harry's name. Draco's head turns towards me, and holy _fuck_. What the hell happened? Blood is everywhere, though he has no visible wounds, and he looks beyond exhausted. The bags under his eyes are a deep purple, as though he forgot his glamour this morning.

Is that really what our lives have come to? Not worrying about if people are okay by physical symptoms, but more so assuming they just forgot to hide? This is disgusting, but it's not like any of us are going to stop. We're all forced to pretend we're okay, because if we don't pretend, we're pitied.

I only just recognize him putting his hand on my arm. That's the other thing. We turn into statues, not seeing, not hearing, not feeling. The things most people don't tell you about the end of a war. Many people love to talk about how we made things better, how good things are now. Maybe to the people that didn't fight. Maybe to the people that didn't lose someone. Maybe to the people who didn't lose themselves somewhere on the way.

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